An Olympic Moment...

Lessons Learned…

Eric Heiden

In 1980, the Winter Olympics occurred in Lake Placid, New York, and at those games a shining star emerged in the event of speed skating. A shining star, midwestern boy, and  hometown hero, Eric Heiden won an unprecedented five gold medals. The hometown was Madison, Wisconsin.  Also in 1980, in a third grade classroom just outside the city limits of Madison, a young student had compiled an amazing, voluminous  photo and article collection chronicling the successes of his hero, Eric Heiden, and was showing it to a certain student teacher.  I was flabbergasted by the page after page of beautifully organized and precisely captioned pictures.  In between photos and articles, Tommy had ever so neatly added his own editorial comments praising the unmatchable efforts, while recording the untouchable statistics of this wonderful humble, hometown superhero.  Tommy’s work was undoubtedly gold medal material as well. Somehow responding to the experience of seeing this with something such as, “Wow, great job!”  seemed to fall tragically short, but what was there to say or to do to celebrate the magnificence of the project and adequately affirm Tommy? Clearly, Tommy wasn’t seeking accolades, for the project itself was the prize, but still, this student teacher’s mind was reeling.  A thought. Tommy, may I bring this home with me over the weekend so that I can read every page? I promise I will guard it and protect it and return it to school Monday morning.  Sure.  Home it went, and it was truly never out of my sight.  I looked up Eric Heiden’s address, hmmmm, not too far from where this student teacher/ UW-Madison student lived. He couldn’t possibly be home. He’s probably not even in the country. I could just drive over to that neighborhood with Tommy’s book.  Self-coaching all the while, I discussed aloud, alone in the car, I will not go to the door because that’s just creepy. It’s a little creepy that I am even driving to the neighborhood, except that this is for Tommy.  Eric Heiden will not be home. He is a world famous Olympic Gold Medalist. This is completely ridiculous. Turn the car around and go home, bring the book back to Tommy on Monday morning, and Tommy will never know  of this craziness. Convinced that turning around and forgetting about this was the best answer, I saw him. Eric Heiden was standing in his front yard, a front yard, as I wasn’t sure if it was his or not. With sweaty palms and shaking hands, I tried to duck down as I was driving and then realized how foolish that looked. Brave. Be brave for Tommy. I stopped the car, parked, got out, and approached Superman while clutching Tommy’s treasure. Eric was gracious and sweet and kind and loved every page of Tommy’s  brilliant book. He laughed, pointed out things, and reminisced just for a bit, and then, in an act of supreme perfectness, Eric Heiden wrote a lovely, thoughtful , and infinitely meaningful message to Tommy.  On Monday morning, before Tommy even had his coat off, he raced to me and asked if I had his book.  Yes.

Lessons Learned…

The Universal Language Of Music

Six languages in one first grade classroom.  Swedish. Greek. Japanese. Afganistan. Spanish. English.  Our hope was to teach them all to read.  Our priority was to build a community, to communicate, but the first few days of school made that priority seem quite remote and that hope nearly impossible.  We had no means by which to connect and our only apparent common ground right then was that we shared a classroom, a cold, lonely one at that. After lunch each day, we had a twenty minute window of time during which we played acoustic instrumental music, and the students were encouraged to either look at a picture book, quietly draw a picture, or simply relax and listen to the music. Surprisingly, most students opted to listen to the music. It was calm, soothing, peaceful, and biased toward no one language. Each mind processes music in its own language.  Perhaps music held a key. We wrote a song about counting to ten. We asked each student to count to ten in his or her primary language, which we phonetically wrote down.  We all learned how to count to ten in each of our class languages with great and enthusiastic help from each other. It was a spectacular song, made exponentially better by the robust participation and growing  esprit de corps of our classroom community.  By sharing a little piece of each other’s language, we were able to share a little piece of each other’s heart.  Our community grew. Our trust grew. Our learning grew. We became readers.  We became friends. We shared a song.  

In An 80's Classroom...

Lessons Learned…

At The Fliptop Desk

The early eighties and before boasted most frequently of classrooms with desks containing attached seats that rather creakingly wobbled from side to side as one needed to get in or out. But the greatest feature of the desks was the wooden fliptop, which when one opened it revealed a large cavernous space perfect for storing and losing an entire school year’s worth of papers, notes home, permission slips, consumable workbooks, number two pencils, all one hundred and sixty four completely unboxed crayons, secret notes from friends, and all sorts of other necessary tools of the students’ trade.  When the fliptop was open, hurricane would be the word that would come to mind. Cleaning was intermittent and half-hearted at best so as not to disrupt the delicate balance between control and chaos wherein the spirit of imagination and creativity reside.  When the fliptop was closed, peace, tranquility, and order were the illusion a visitor to the school might be impressed with if he or she peeked into our classroom.  The first graders and I were, at that moment, dwelling in the illusion state as they were putting finishing touches on some art projects, fliptops closed,  and I was savoring their unbridled creativity as they created artwork upon their fliptops. Gerry was suddenly looking a bit pale.  Are you okay? Yes; just a little too full from lunch. Do you need to visit the nurse? Oh no, I just need to rest my tummy. I can rest my tummy while I’m working; see? You are doing a great job, Gerry, but if you need to see the nurse, you just let me know. A bit paler. Gerry, how are you feeling? A little better. You sure? I’m sure. Let me know if you would like to see the nurse.  Nobody likes to get sick at school. Feeling icky is no fun.  Gerry was looking a real bad shade of green, and I went to get the trash can from the front of the room. On my way to Gerry, I saw him lift the wooden fliptop of his desk.  Gerry got sick inside the desk, then closed the wooden fliptop and put his head down upon it.  It was sad. Gerry was sad. We all felt sad for Gerry. The nurse came for Gerry and he went home to really rest his tummy.  After that, the janitor came and removed Gerry’s fliptop desk for a sound cleaning. Monday would be Gerry’s turn to restore the proper balance to the interior of his fliptop.

It's all about perspective...

Lessons Learned…

The Hospital School

In the midst of IV’s, hospital gowns, doctors, nurses, therapists, and colorful artwork on the walls, there was a school right there in that enormous pediatric unit. Student-patients came faithfully to the hospital  classroom every chance they had because keeping up with homework kept each one thinking forward to the glorious reunion with friends and teachers and coaches in the hometown schools they each longed for.  Having health and strength to attend school and participate each day in every part of school was indeed the hopeful dream of these student- patients.  A hopeful dream not recognized at all as such by those students who have never had to study and learn in the hospital school.  It’s so easy to take for granted things that are easy and good and ours, but things can change as the wind blows. Change, expected or unexpected, often serves to bring perspective.  These dear, brave student-patients longed for school. One particular day, I was asked to do bedside tutoring with a student-patient who wouldn’t come to the school; everything hurt and everything was wrong.  She didn’t want to talk, so we just sat that day and for the next few, as well. Homework was pointless, she asserted. Okay. Interested in singing? I ventured the suggestion without making eye contact. Stupid. Too loud. Silent sitting resumed. The next day, I offered, singing in sign language because it wouldn’t make any noise. With a combination of incredulity and hilarity and contempt, our first eye contact occurred. What? Come on, it will be fun, and I wrote this song for you. L-O-V-E, love is special, a song just for her. It worked. She loved it. We learned it and continued to sing it silently on my every visit to her room. When she got tired of singing it, she let me help her with homework.  Eventually, she agreed to come to the hospital school only to help me teach her song to the other student-patients. She thought it would make them happy and she was pretty certain I couldn’t teach it as well as she could. She was absolutely right. 

The Mom And The Teacher Hats

Lessons Learned…

Mom And Teacher, Hats Easily Mixed-Up Occasionally

Visiting with some parents at a Head Start event, we shared thoughts on high priority activities, behavioral habits, and experiences which would serve to benefit their little ones greatly in preparation for school.  Simple things. Inexpensive things.  Things, however, that required a faithful, never-ending investment of time.  Children represent great hope and great promise, and each parent in our conversation clearly carried that twinkling spark of hope in his or her eyes.  We long for our children to succeed and to watch their dreams come true.  Somehow, somewhere along the way, however, life seems to get in the way and our very best intentions get hopelessly tangled in the mire that is the lock step of daily living. Distractions lead to compromises of time and trade deliberate learning and growing  efforts for auto-pilot screen-babysitters. Two jobs. Three jobs. No jobs. Life is very hard. Raising children is very hard. That conversation at Head Start has continued to reverberate in my mind over many years. As a teacher, what do I see? As a mom, what do I do? With both hats on, and with a very humble heart here are five simple thoughts on high priority activities, behavioral habits, and beneficial experiences for little ones:

1.       Read to little ones. Read. Read. Read.  Any books. All books. Go to the library. Get books in their hands. Abe Lincoln had one book as a child. He read it over and over and over again. Traveling through the pages of hundreds of books together, my boys and I were able to travel in our imaginations to places we would never be able to afford to actually visit.  Free field trips. Free vacations.  Never too tired to read. Never too tired to be read to.

2.       Eat healthy food. A bag of potatoes, for instance, is less expensive than a bag of potato chips and so much better for growing children.  Simple fresh food is typically less expensive than the processed snack-types and is completely, absolutely better for you. Eat healthy.

3.       Drink plenty of water. Water supports the brain, and the body needs so much more water than we think.

4.       Play. Forget about the fancy, expensive toys, and use what you have to foster creativity and imagination development.  Children need far less entertainment where they passively observe, and far more mind-engaging, problem-solving creative play with paper, crayons, rocks, sticks, water, and imagination. Play inside, play outside, get lots of fresh air, gross motor with lots of flailing and running, and fine motor demanding concentration; just must play. 

5.       Enough sleep is unbelievably critical. Do not ever underestimate the necessity of sleep for little ones. Sleep allows the brain and body time to rest and recharge.  A well-rested mind is exceedingly more able to concentrate, focus, and engage in learning.

   

Lessons Learned…

In The Pre-School Laboratory Of Imaginative Play

It was an ordinary day ready to take an extraordinary turn into the imaginative world of creative movement, for it was time to play, Leaping Reindeer.  Leaping Reindeer is a very simple, very straightforward game requiring very little explanation even to little pre-schoolers, especially to little pre-schoolers. Pre-schoolers, you see, regularly swan dive into the deep end of the pool of imaginative play; the mere mention of an invitation is all that is necessary to engage the entire crowd.  At some sad point we older folks hopelessly regress to cautious toe dipping in the wading pool, but that is another story.  We, the students and I, were fully poised and ready for a rousing, exuberant game of Leaping Reindeer in the very spacious classroom designed specifically for games prone to jumping, twirling, galloping, flying, and the like. The teacher calls out an animal, an activity, an object, and a manner of moving, and  then we all begin the swirl of fun. The word “freeze” halts the flow and perks up ears to the next direction and subsequent swirl of fun. We were pros at this game, seasoned and confident.  Hopping frogs. Freeze. Driving cars. Freeze. Soaring eagles. Freeze. Marching band with instruments playing. Freeze. Fast flapping hummingbirds. Freeze. Walking on high wire squirrels. Freeze. Leaping reindeer. Snap. Pain. Freeze. Creeping inchworms all the way back to our squares for our songs. Swelling ankle. Sitting with and listening to joyfully  singing pre-schoolers happily exhausted after our energetic game. Soon, class over. Quick albeit a hobbly visit to the clinic. Somewhat tricky to explain without doing, but somehow managed. Outcome, severely sprained, wrapped, and solemnly promised to shelf Leaping Reindeer for a bit. Just a little bit, though:)

How not to be...

Lessons Learned…

How Not To Be

1965-1966. First Grade. A big year for reading and learning, as they all should be.  Unfortunately, my first grade teacher was a yeller and her perpetually frustration-laced, roarish voice filled our classroom with fear rather than sweet wonder and encouragement. Regardless of one’s tender years, one quickly learns the survival strategies of not making eye contact  and not rocking the boat, so as to be able to inconspicuously fly under the classroom teacher’s radar and avoid being at the receiving end of her verbal attacks. It’s pretty tough to be “bad” in first grade as little ones long to love and please their teachers.  Can’t imagine the exponential increase in volume and in anger had we been naughty.  We were not naughty. We were, however, terrified, and when you are afraid, it is extremely difficult, perhaps even impossible, to learn. Fear has no place in a classroom, because it’s unfair and it’s paralyzing as it squeezes the life, the joy, and the hope out of a classroom leaving nothing but cold walls and clock hands that don’t move fast enough.  I survived. I learned to read. At home where I was not afraid. At home where I was encouraged and smiled at. At home where no one yelled at me. I wonder how my first grade classmates did. The lesson she taught, which has been indelibly etched into my heart, is how not to be.